The Golden Adjective
by EbonyIvoryy
Summary: What's in a name, really? A simple word... one that defines the person who owns it... Manga/Brotherhood-verse; Hohenheim's POV; Just another short muse.


**A/N: **'Ello, lovelies! I would say that this fic is one of the shortest I have ever written. Not to mention written in first person—something I haven't done before. I plan to write more stuff for Hohenheim. Perhaps even a Trisha/Hohenheim fic? Yes. That sounds grand. Anyway, sorry if this fic isn't interesting. I tried to add somewhat of a poetic feel to it! Did I accomplish that task? Uck, probably not. ;^;

I am not particularly proud of myself for this one. Nevertheless, don't refrain from C.C. I'd really appreciate it. Hope you somewhat enjoy~! :'D

**Disclaimer: **All hail the almighty Cow! Because we all know who _really_ ruled Xerxes... ;DD

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_**The Golden Adjective**_

_~u~_

What's in a name, really? A simple word—one that defines the person whom owns it. It is our adjective. Not of broad appearances, but of what we go by. It is our lover's addiction. Sliding from their lips, they learn to love your name as much as the person they fell for. They cry it with passion when sharing lust. Your closest friends and family members branch your name into cute little epithets. Everyone single soul that meets you, or ever will meet you, is familiar with one thing: the title that makes you human. But it's only a word... Just a word. You are still human without one, right?

If that's true, then why did I keep my name? A name that doesn't even belong to me. A name that was given to me by not loved ones or blood-kin, but the most monstrous of monsters. That one name is the only thing my sons knew of me. That one name is what the Xerxes people would come to recognize me as.

Yes. I am _him_. I am Van Hohenheim.

When I was brought into this world, my name wasn't crucial. It was due to my rank in life that I didn't even know my parents, nor did the royals in Xerxes care. They'd just walk by, their golden eyes noting me as another 'slave'. _Another_ slave because there were thousands of us. None of us had names. None of us knew how to read, or were well-educated in any way. And that is why we wondered the same thing—what was our meaning? Why would we live our lives laboring for these materialistic people? What was our purpose? Were we meant for more than just manual labor? Could we live out our lives differently? Despite all of these questions that ran through our naive heads, we just kept a smile upon our lips and befriended each other. That was all we could do. _No one_ dared to take their questions into action. _No one_ dared to challenge the Xerxes empire.

I went by number 23 in those days. As if I were some kind of working ant in the rotation. Really, I was. But back then, I preferred not to think of it that way. I preferred to think that I was as important as the sun alone. The deathly, baking sun with its orange and yellow rays shining upon the spheres surrounding it. And then, when the Homunculus in the flask came along, I had meaning. For once, a being actually cared as to whether or not I had a name. It's true that now I know the Homunculus was merely using me, but his evil wits helped me achieve purpose. Does that sound selfish? Maybe. Especially since in order for me to become immortal, it cost the entire civilization of Xerxes to do so. And thus, we get to my name. Number 23 was catchy, but it wasn't human. The Homunculus in the flask brainstormed a few names, but only one was compromised. The first time I heard that name, I felt as if my golden locks were intertwining with every star in the galaxy. It was an enthralling essence.

Yes. I am _him_. I am Van Hohenheim.

But the Homunculus; Father, perhaps, crushed my world and everybody around it. He looked down on mortals and stepped on them like helpless ants. He doesn't only want to become God, but surpass Him. He thinks of himself as the next evolution—followed by his only children, the Homunculi. Pride, Wrath, Envy, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, and Sloth. They are said to be emotionless. Cold. Not insane, because they don't have human brains, thus not having the same psychological rules. According to Father, that is a perfect being. That is God. But if you get too close to God, your wax wings will melt and you'll come crashing back down to Earth. However, he had to learn that the hard way.

Secretly, I believe that Father did have emotions. That he was not human, but something close to it. Like a psychopath with an inner longing. And for that, I do not condemn him. Nor do I grow shrill at his presence. He wasn't lying when he wished to get out of the flask; to travel the horizon for centuries. I think that truly, that was what he wanted. Nothing more.

I suppose the reason I kept my name is simple. When I make allies, they will always remember those two words. When I make history, the world will stand on the peak of a mountain, urging those words. When I made love to Trisha, she moaned it with an everlasting passion for me and me alone. And what lies on my tombstone? No, I am no longer Number 23.

Yes. I am _him_. I am Van Hohenheim.

_**Fin**_


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